Chemo Cyborg

I recall Debbie Allen saying something like:
You need to stand in front of the mirror, with all your clothes off. If you can't stand to look at it, nobody else is going to see it either.
Ms. Allen was referring to a time when she needed to go on a diet and lose some weight.

I remembered her remark as I prepared to shower.

I scanned my naked image in the mirror:
no make-up;
bald head;
chest medi-port and IV line, that a friend said resembled a beauty mark;
tissue expanders, housing my temporary breasts;
scars from the drain holes, left on both sides of my torso.

I should have looked away,
not because I need to lose weight,
but because I found myself thinking:
If I stick the Bluetooth in my ear, I will look like a cyborg.

But I don't like Sci-Fi.

New Hair

TUESDAY:

WEDNESDAY:

THURSDAY:

FRIDAY:

I'm Losing It

...my hair.
All of it.
Not by the strand
but by the fistful.

I can't pretend any longer.
I have the face of cancer.

I stare at my reflection,
where hairs stood just a couple of hours ago:
vanished,
clean scalp now appears.

I never thought I'd have to do it so early in life...
let go of the outward manifestations of beauty,
the kind that people are comfortable with.

Will they feel uncomfortable now?
Or will I be the uncomfortable one,
as I wait for inner beauty to
either
emerge
or
retreat
behind the face.

Round 2

Well, it's the night before the BIG fight!

Tomorrow is chemo day,

and I'm still trying to get my head in the game.

So this time, I have a plan of attack:

anti-nausea meds before, during and immediately after (whether I need them or not).
Chemo is a sneaky opponent, on a seek and destroy mission,

To make my hair fall out,

To make me toss my cookies,

To bring me to my knees.

But I won't stay down.

Give me about 72 hours, and I'll be back on my feet,

balding but standing.

In preparation of the fallout (pun intended),

I purchased a couple of scarves and have started wearing them.

I was hesitant at first because I didn't want that "chemo head" look.

Not a good look for me, but I don't need any more surprises.

I've already had too many.

So, here's a sneak peak at two of my "do" rags. DING!! DING!!!

Big Hair, not Big Head

Most of you know it as MLK Day.
Or you might refer to it as A Day of Service.
For me, today was Wig Consultation Day.


I'd originally scheduled my appointment for last Monday, but chemo aftermath kept me home. I rescheduled for today and showed up with a girlfriend in-tow. I was running out of time; my hair would be gone soon.

"When is your next treatment?" my stylist inquired.
"Friday," I responded.
Bonnie explained that I would probably start to lose my hair three to five days following treatment.
"But it will grow back," she added.
I knew she was right.
She was a breast cancer survivor, and she had hair.



When it was time to measure my head, I assumed there were three wig sizes - small, medium and large - and that I'd need large.
After all, I'd been told I had a big head.
And Daddy's cranium earned him the nickname "Head Green" while playing college football.
Didn't I have his head?

So, you can only imagine how shocked I was to hear,
"You have average-sized head."
"Huh? My best friend always says I have a big head."
Bonnie clarified, "You don't have a big head; you have big hair."

I chuckled, realizing that my big head and big hair would disappear in about a week.

Reverend Noah

I waited and worried all day.
My family was finally meeting with the doctor to discuss my father's prognosis.
It wasn't what I wanted to hear, but it was what I expected to hear.
Still, it was difficult.

Yesterday we learned that Daddy would not wake up,
would never speak again,
be able to feed himself or collect his beloved coins.
Yesterday,
tomorrow's reality went black.

Noah must have noticed.
After kissing me goodnight, but before heading upstairs to bed, he saddled up next to me on the sofa.
"I need to say something," he explained, kneeling beside me.
Then he placed his open palm upon my head and began to pray aloud.
When he finished he said, "I love you Mommy. I hope you feel better tomorrow."

And you know what?
I did.
Today's reality was much brighter.

An Open Letter to Sean & Co.

Dearest Sean & Family, Neighbors & Friends:


How do I begin to humbly thank you for such an exquisite gift?
I can think of no American equivalent, no tradition that adequately expresses my gratitude.
I only hope my words will convey what is in my heart, after having received such a great treasure.

When your package arrived last weekend,
I was too weak to read the letter.
Jeff read it to me while unwrapping the lovely Senbazuru.
Handing it to me, I struggled to comprehend how such a thing of beauty was created.
But with each line of your letter, its meaning and its power was revealed.
I was in overwhelmed, not only by the Senbazuru's complexity, but by your words.

Before he could finish the letter, I was already looking at the little "Alleluia" book...
A present within a present.
As I explored the pages (back-to-front), I found a picture of you and 1000 cranes organized across the floor.
I flipped the photo over. "Passion" was written on the back.
It certainly takes passion to complete such a task!

I turned the next page. Another picture. This time the word "Spirituality"was written.
Tucked among every few pages were pictures of family, friends, neighbors, students, employees, and one of the biggest surprises - SANTA,
each one smiling, with out-stretched hands, displaying tiny cranes, each carrying a prayer.
Every picture as unique as its message on the back: support, respect, miracles, healing.

I am finally feeling much better now.
My Senbazuru hangs in my bedroom window and is one of the first things I see when I open my eyes each morning.
It is like seeing a thousand new prayers each day.
But it is also an ever-present reminder that God is:
INTRICATE
ABLE
COMPLEX
FAITHFUL
FAR-REACHING
GENEROUS
COLORFUL
DIVERSE
WITHOUT BORDERS
LIMITLESS
MAJESTIC
and more TRANSFORMING than I could ever think or imagine.

One more thing, before I close.
I didn't think Hallmark would have an appropriate one, so I wrote my own

Haiku

Water-colored cranes
One thousand folded prayers
Rise and sustain me

With thanksgiving and love,
Dee

1000 Prayers from Japan

Deneitra is having a rough time but recovering. She received an incredible gift today from my best friend Sean and she wanted to share it.

Here is his letter:

Dear Dee, Jan 6, 2010

You inspire us all,

At first, I thought there was nothing I could do being so far away. Then again, I thought wrong. There I was sitting alone praying and contemplating on what I could do for you, when I realized that there was something I could do and that I was already doing it..prayer!

And, so everyday I said a prayer (and still do)!

However, there I was sitting alone praying once again and wondering how could I show you prayer..how could I make you not just feel it but see it! That is when I realized that I could do what so many Japanese people have and still do for others...make an origami crane!

The crane is a holy creature in Japan and said to live for thousands of years. There is an old legend that says for each paper crane that is made a wish, such as, happiness and prosperity; long life or recovery from illness, will be granted.

And, thus, making Senbazuru or 1000 paper cranes, came to mind.

I thought to myself that I could fold a thousand cranes while saying a prayer on each fold(16-18 depending on how folded) that it takes to make a paper crane. I hurried to the stationery store and back home where I announced to everyone my Pray for Dee Project. My wife took one look at me and said, "Where on earth are you going to find the time to do that? Unless you plan on giving it to her 2 and a half years later, I don't see how you can get it done."

She was right! There was no way I could do this alone

So, there I was once again praying and thinking how could I get this done. That is when I started to recall the story of Jesus on the hill sharing that bread and fish with all those people. Though there seemed not to be enough to go around, there was enough for everyone and more, For me, this symbolized prayer. If I shared it, it would grow and grow if everyone was praying with the same sort of faith that it takes to make a difference.

That's it! Share in Pray with others!

Now, it sounds like a great idea...however..I had to remind myself that I am living in a mainly Buddhist country. Would people pray with me? Would they think I am trying to pull them into some religious cult or something? Though I worried at first, I decided that it is always better to try than to just worry about the outcome.

So, I started with my family. My wife and kids got together and we made about 50 together. Then, I asked my mother-in-law. She said, "It would be my pleasure. Just leave them on the table and I will do some later." Didn't like the response but left them there just in case, Got home frm work that night and she hands me this shoe box and says, "Here's 250 done,""Huh?Did you do that all in one day?" I cried, "Yes!And, I can do them all this week for you, if you want" she replied! Though it was tempting, I told her that I wanted to ask some others to help and join in prayer.

So, I called a Japanese friend of mine and told him about you and what I wanted to do, He said he would be glad to make a paper crane for you; however, I would have to teach him how to make it. Thought all Japanese knew how to make it....little to say for stereotyping now.

Nonetheless, my project came to life, I started asking everyone that passed my way....students, friends, employees, youth group, neighbors, an Italian nun and many more...to help make a crane and pray for Dee.

The response was overwhelming and moved me to tears, You see Dee, what I discovered was that no matter what our race or religion is...

There are no boarder lines when it comes to:

Sharing in faith and hope.

Sharing in loving one another!

Sharing in prayer.

Dee, may this Senbazuru be an inspiration to you as you are to us.

We love you and continue to pray!

Love Always,

Sean

PS,

I have enclosed pictures of some that helped though there were nearly a hundred people who helped. Finally, you should know that my mother-in-law was so inspired that she went out and bought some origami paper and has already made 1700 cranes and counting.

Thank you Sean for your love and continuing to be the inspiration YOU are.

"C" Day

First things first, Nurse Linda would draw my blood and ensure that my port worked.
Nothing happened.
She wasn't worried; I was.
"We've just got to play with it a little," she explained.
I was not in the mood to play, but she got that blood flowing.
STEP 1: DONE

Met with my doctor next. Had to change into a gown, which I didn't understand because
"I have no breasts!" Doc was more concerned about my anemia than anything else.
Turns out my numbers were okay, so
"Pass the chemo, please."
STEP 2: DONE

Pouches of clear liquid dangle from an I-V pole. Liquid slowly travels through the I-V tube and empties into the port in my chest. My face itches a little on one side. I have a funny taste in my mouth, and I'm starting to get sleepy.

"WHAT do mean I haven't started the chemo?????"
Turns out they start with a couple bags of saline and steroids.
"When do I get my chemo?" I asked.

NOW

Three tubes of red-tinted Doxorubicin or Adriamycin, are pushed through by a nurse over a 20-minute period; followed up with Cyclophospamide or Cytoxan through a drip, lasting about 30 minutes.
STEP 3: DONE

Only 15 treatments to go.

My Hump

Hump Day (definition): the day in the middle of the work week. The day between Tuesday and Thursday, as in "over the hump" and headed toward the weekend.

My definition: the day between getting my medi-port placed and receiving chemo.

Makes me wish it was already Friday.

"Can I ask you a question?"

I needed to go to the mall today.
I had one item to return and wanted to take care of it quickly.
But before I could reach my destination, I was accosted by one of those pesky kiosk workers,
selling ceramic flat irons.

"Can I ask you a question?" inquired the salesman.
"What's that?" I responded, stopping to give him my full attention.
"What do you use on your hair?"
Before I had a chance to answer, he proceeded to deliver his best pitch for a product that would smooth the hair shaft; was available in 1", 3/4" and 1/2" barrels; and wouldn't damage my hair like some of the other products on the market.

When he'd finished his schpeel,
I looked him directly in the eyes and said,
"I'd buy the red one if I weren't starting chemo later this week."

Awkward silence...
So I continued,
"I will be completely bald in about two weeks time."

Just kidding. Here's what really happened:
"Can I ask you a question?"
"No," I said, walking away and heading into Victoria's Secrets.

Freshly Baked Bread

As January 8th approaches,
Noah has gotten into the back into the habit of climbing into bed with me in the mornings.
He usually appears with blankie in-tow;
snuggles beneath the warm covers,
and rests his head on the "little" pillow.
It's probably my favorite time of the day.
He is warm from sleep,
Like freshly baked bread, straight out of the oven.

I recall missing our mornings together, not so long ago.
Preparing for both surgeries, we warned Noah and the older two boys that Mommy wouldn't be able to lift or hug too tightly.

Now as I prepare for chemo,
I've warned the boys that not only will I be tired and possibly sick,
but one day soon, I will probably be bald,
"You know, like Daddy," I explained.

So each morning when Noah cozies up next to me in bed,
the first thing he asks to see is my hair.

This morning he remarked that my hair was beautiful.